


Arterius Returns

by Arterius_Rising



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biotic Charge, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Mass Effect 2, Mild Gore, Porn with Feelings, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arterius_Rising/pseuds/Arterius_Rising
Summary: An AU where Saren survived, and they collide once more.She’d witnessed him put the pistol barrel he’d ended Nihlus with to the soft hide beneath his jaw, and pull the trigger. Shepard had watched his lifeless body drop.(Being slowly edited from FF.net, and brought over here. With a new lick of paint for my fellow Saren fans.)[Renegade Intensifies]





	1. The Vigilante

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!  
> The first three chapters are complete. So far only two have been edited and updated. The third one is being edited and the fourth is a WIP. 
> 
> Read on, and enjoy. 
> 
> *Presses right trigger for renegade action*

|Part 1|

God damned resurrection!

Shepard threw her helmet across the alley. No, not her helmet - that one had been burnt up along with her when she'd...when she'd...

The Hero of the Citadel, surviver of Akuze and of the streets of Earth could not say it, could not even think about it. 

Two years dead. Brought back to life. Implanted with cybernetics which flared her eyes crimson, shadowing the sapphire they had once been. Comrades had moved on. Deep, glowing scars marred her face, leaving her changed both physically and mentally. 

The scar on her cheek had vanished, been wiped away; it had once reminded her of what she had come through, during the Thresher Maw attack that had torn through the rest of her team. The same went for the one on her lip, from a knife attack on the streets of London where she'd risen up like a phoenix from ashes. Traces of her past self, gone. 

Omega. The lawless space station had been their first destination. Shepard was followed by an ex-alliance solider and a woman who oozed spite and wore the colours of Ceberus like a fucking flag. 

They were there for information, so she'd gone in and got the job done. Shepard had wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible. The Asari, Aria, was a bitch but Shepard could respect her. In a way, her time on the streets and in the Tenth Street Reds had allowed her the... skills, to deal with people like the Omega Queen far better than her other solider compadres. In the end, one gang boss was the same as all the others. 

Pretend to dance to their tune, but never bow your head in submission; that would show weakness, show your vulnerable belly and people in power loved to feed of those they could exploit. It was the same anywhere in the Galaxy. 

After their little meeting, it was discovered that the slums were in lockdown, and it would take some time before the guard could get in contact with those inside to let them know they were free to pass. Shepard ended up ditching the Cerberus lackeys as they headed back to the ship. Another echo, not quite the same. Never would be the same. 

Both protested futilely, and she waved them off. Jacob was an alright guy, while Miranda obviously believed her own bullshit about the Illusive Man. Shepard was not in the right frame of mind to be shadowed by either of them. Hadn't really been on sure footing since she'd woken up on that operating table. 

Who would have been mentally sound after being dead for two years? 

Joker was with her, and Doctor Chakwas. They had given her breath in her lungs, to see and be in contact with people who had been from her life before. It meant not all was lost. 

Being on the re-make of the Normandy didn't help. It seemed hollow, and every free surface was covered by a Cerberus logo. It was laughable. 

The Alliance... 

Anderson had guided her from the life she had been living; the path of destruction she had fought against with tooth and nail, blood and sweat. At the age of eighteen, she'd taken herself and all of her belongings, a small back-pack really, and headed off to enlist. It had been a square white building, she recalled, and those who wanted to sign up had waited in line to reach the main desk. 

She was a biotic. From an accident which had occurred when a carrier of Ezo had ruptured on the streets. There were conspiracies about it, of course, but all that mattered was it had killed several of the youngsters who had crowded on the street to sleep. She hadn't died from it, like others had, but had been altered. As she had been changed once more. From child, to biotic. From dead, to alive. 

The powers that had surfaced had been volatile, and Shepard realised she needed to learn to control them. The Alliance could help her, and she could do some good for once, she'd thought. 

Anderson spotted her, when she had found it hard to fit in with the other recruits, and her temper meant her biotics were unstable. It was Anderson who taught her restraint, even paid to have a tutor teach her to read and write. With the -somewhat dirty - combat skills she'd learnt on the streets, along with her strong biotic capability, they had pegged her for a Vanguard early on. A heavy hitter. That was what she'd trained in, during her rise to N7 years later. 

The Alliance had been her life. Working with Cerberus, and being presumed dead, she was unsure what they’d say exactly but it wouldn’t be any good. The thought of it alone made her search out the nearest bar. 

The bar tender was a mild-tempered Turian. Shepard had never minded the different races, had been curious of their cultures the first time she'd stepped on the Citadel, though she'd kept a leash on it to be polite and act as a solider should. The Turian male had white clan markings, nothing like the cobalt Garrus wore. She’d averted her eyes, before he noticed her strange observation of him. 

At the memory of her old friend, her chest tightened. Till she rubbed at it over her armour. He'd vanished apparently, only to come back as a Spectre. She smiled a little at that, having brought him along for her own Spectre training in preparation, in case he ever chose to attempt such a path again. After they dealt with Saren. Now, that was a name she pushed aside sharply, along with the crystal clear memory of his suicide. 

She had ordered a drink. A beer, something simple. God, she didn't know much about any of the drinks lined up behind the bar, and she didn't fancy being poisoned. The new body might be able to take it, but it wouldn't help her mood. 

Shepard had sipped at it, while those around her tried to deduce whether they did indeed recognise her. Thankfully nobody approached. It was rather tiring to be reminded that she had died. 

When the place became too crowded, and she was sick of the neon lights and loud music, Shepard paid her tab with a wave of her new omni-tool. Then headed for the door which led further down into the pit that was Omega. Aria had announced quite theatrically that she was Omega, meaning there would be hired eyes and ears throughout the station. In every nook and cranny, seen and unseen. Shepard sneered with the thought, as she found a secluded batch of steps and sat down. 

That was where she found herself a good half hour later, picking up her helmet from the soiled ground after throwing it. A huffed, self deprecating breath left her. She needed to get herself together, it was shameful. Sat in the bowls of Omega, as if she were back on Earth, hiding away behind dumpster. 

Shepard ran an armoured hand through her short blonde hair, and tried not to agonise over whether it was the exact same shade as it had been. Instead she started up the steps, helmet in hand and conceded it was time to return to the Normandy. To throw herself into the mission. People were being harmed, and going missing - there was no time for her to fall apart. 

As she headed passed the Batarian preacher who really yanked her chain, Shepard heard the crackle of a radio channel overhead. Much the same as the ones they had on the Citadel elevator. Well, they had when she'd last been there. It was a male’s voice. Batarian if the slight accent through the translator was anything to go on. She only half listened as she walked, striding up the way towards the small and separate docking bays. 

Her footfalls faltered when there was mention of a Turian held up by a collection of gangs. Three of the most infamous on Omega. A sniper, a vigilantly and a lone male who’d been causing havoc for the lawless on the station for months. Her gut twisted. An instinct, one she’d rarely overlook as it had saved her life more times than Shepard could count. 

The description, even as vague as it was, resonated with something in her. It was someone she knew and if it was who she thought it was, then Shepard would lay out every merc heading for him before they could release even a single bullet in his direction. 

"Shit," she cursed, and then quickly fell silent as the radio speaker ended with a note to all who wanted some credits or part of the action could be recruited as freelancers. Bullet-sponges, canon-fodder. That's what they wanted, but if it got her close...

She power walked to the docking bay. From there she tapped on the voice com which would link her to the cockpit and EDI; a damn AI, of all things. 

"Commander," the computerised voice answered, having been connected with the personal com in her ear. The line was far more secure with her hooked up close, and not at range. She was paranoid, with good reason and didn’t want any chance of someone overhearing. 

“Somethings come up." Shepard still felt strange addressing the AI. The only words she'd ever uttered to a Geth had been spoken with her bullets. "I'll handle it. Make sure Miranda doesn't send out a search party." 

It was perhaps a reckless thing to do. Heading out alone. From a tactical point, she would draw less attention; with the only other squad members on the team being two Cerberus operatives who weren't exactly discrete, and a hired merc who was as grizzled as a Krogan with loyalty still questionable. Self-preservation was not at the forefront of her mind, though she would refuse the fact point blank if Chakwas ever questioned her on it. Alone it would have to be. 

"Yes, Commander. If those are your orders. I will inform Officer Lawson of your current location." 

"See that you do." Shepard disconnected, and winced a little. That might have sounded more arsy than necessary, but then she still couldn’t get used to conversing with an artificial intelligence. Maybe in time, when she'd forgotten that every other one she'd came across had been, or quickly turned hostile. 

The Geth. The credit shifter who threatened to take down half the Presidium, and the rogue AI on Luna station. 

She headed out. Best to make herself scarce before Miranda could fool herself into thinking Shepard would kneel to the demands of her ‘second’. If the genetically altered agent stormed out the airlock for a lecture, Shepard might be tempted to biotic charge her. 

As she made her way once more through the tinted streets, she was grudging grateful to the facility Cerberus had offered where she'd been able to customise her armour for the mission ahead. The Illusive Man was nothing, if not thorough. She no longer possessed the black N7 official medium armour, and had chosen something completely different in its place - as if not to remember that old armour at all, and what had happened to it. To her. 

Instead she chose white plate, rimmed and edged by a golden brown colour. Heavy shoulder guards for an extra kick  
to her charge, a headset fitted with a visor after she'd liked Garrus' and her personal N7 stripe. The red and white arm piece was the only aspect of the new armour which was similar to her old set, and a part she could not get rid off. It signified too much. 

Hopefully, in the act of being inconspicuous, Omega’s dwellers would think she was just another N7. Not that she recalled there being many of them. Still, in two years some of her fellow marines must have passed the final stage. That was something she would like to look into. The only other one she had known was Anderson, and the trainer who had taken her group through the motions down in Brazil. 

Slipping on her slightly scuffed helmet, she reluctantly sealed the metal casing around her head, concealing her hair and half of her face. Shepard thought the only bonus to the glowing cybernetics was that it hid most of the real colour of her eyes; especially while adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she was angry. Having a helmet on made her twitchy at best and the cybernetics, though a different colour, reminded her of Saren’s synthesis. Half organic, half machine. 

Those who had witnessed her speak to Aria could have worked out who she was, and subsequently spread the news. Her blonde hair was quite a give away when paired with the N7 stripe, and Aria’s not so subtle scan while mentioning her name out loud all added up. Shepard hoped the mercs had been too busy hunting down their Turian to keep up on the rumours of her arrival. 

She headed in the direction the radio advertisement had mentioned, where they were taking down names of freelancers who wanted to join the assault. It was off the side of the bar, a popular and thus tactical place. Shepard was glad when not one of the Batarian bouncers stopped her as she passed with a helmet on. They recognised her, being Aria’s lap-dogs, and a flash of her unnatural eyes had them soon turning a blind eye anyway. 

Stalking past the semi-dressed Asari table dancers, Shepard approached the doorway. She purposely ignored the booth above, where the Queen resided. Another Batarian stood just outside, gesturing those in who came looking. 

"This where I sign up?" Shepard asked over the obnoxious music, cutting to the chase. Grizz, one of Aria's personal men nearby didn't seem to notice her, or chose to remain ignorant and inform his Boss later. 

"Inside, human," he thumbed over his shoulder. 

She didn't grace him with an answer as she started down into the exterior room. The doors slid open to reveal, unsurprisingly, yet another Batarian with a sun plastered over his chest piece. The blue Suns then, not hard of a guess. 

"Well, aren't you a sweet thing?" He leered, and Shepard immediately wanted to knock him down a few pegs. Killing him would just draw unwanted attention, as much as it was a tempting prospect. "The strippers quarters are the next room along-" 

She released her pistol and cocked it. "Show me yours, big guy. I bet mines bigger.” She bared her teeth. He couldn't see, but she was sure her eyes glowed ominously. Either them, or the gun quietened him quickly. Perhaps they weren't too bad, after all. Apart from when she was in polite society, like the Alliance. 

"Huh," the Batarian back-pedalled. "You're well armed, I see. If you want to sign up, go ahead." 

Shepard crossed her arms. "You're looking for freelancers right? Here to nab a few easy credits. That might fool others in this shit hole, but I'd like to know what I'm walking in to, if it's all the same to you." 

He grunted. She needed to get as much information from him as possible. "Fair enough. Three merc bands have joined up to take this guy down. Blue Suns, Eclipse and Blood pack. No, this doesn't make you a part of any of them. At first we thought he had a group, with the amount of problems the slimy bastards caused, but it turns out it's just one guy.” 

A sadistic sharp toothed smile filled the Batarian’s face. Shepard grimaced in disgust. “He’s slipped up. We've got him pinned down in an apartment complex. You freelancers will be helping us get to him." 

An interesting tidbit of information, but also very worrying. One man against three merc groups, and freelancers piled on top? Even the best marksman couldn't hold out forever. Whether it be from a lack of bullets, sleep or food. Or the mercs simply breaking his defences and overwhelming him. She needed to act quickly. 

"Where am I heading?" She made it seem like she was only bothered with the credits, a shrug in answer to his words. Bluffing was one of her many talents earned on Earths streets. ‘No officer, I had nothing to do with that. Those aren’t my drugs, Sir.’ 

"To the skycar lot. A man of ours will take you to where the others are hold up." 

Shepard grunted in return. Then spun on her heels to exit the room before she punched the slimy prick in the face for good measure. Batarians were rarely very pleasant to deal with, especially soldiers and mercs. Even when Shepard kept an open mind about each alien race she came into contact with. 

The club floor was pretty crowded, but she managed to make her way through without much fuss. People seemed to want to step out of her way, which was fine for her. Just peachy. 

Down past the Elcor bouncer and the tiresome human male who kept insisting Aria was waiting for him, Shepard rounded the corner to where the skycars were parked. The mystery of which one was the right one was solved easily enough; a blue sun Batarian waited, back rested on the powered down vehicle. 

He looked her up and down as she walked in his direction, her gait strong and with purpose. "You a freelance?" He asked, when his four eyes found her face again. 

"Yup," she punctuated with her lips, and gestured to the skycar. "You the driver?" 

"That'll be me," he smiled, or more so a baring of teeth. “Get in.” Usually getting into cars with strangers was frowned upon, but Shepard had a knife in her gauntlet piece and her biotics which were overly deadly in close quarters. He should be the one to be scared. 

The top flipped up, and she ducked in. Taking the passenger seat. She might as well keep an eye on where they were going, and watch where he put his hands for any hidden weapons. 

He settled in next to her, the top shut and the vehicle lifted off the ground. Shepard put her arm up to rest of the window ledge as she pretended to be engrossed at the view, while really she kept track of his movements on the steering controls. Mostly. She was paying attention to their direction and the backdrop of Omega’s city scape at the same time; a whole mass of buildings which ranged from steel grey and metal black. They were generally piled on top of one another in a blocks of apartments. 

He kept shooting her glances, no doubt wondering why she was without a team. At least she hoped that was what payed on his thoughts, and it wasn’t something more sinister. It’d be hard to control the skycar if she broke his neck. Most of the other freelancers would have signed up in twos or small groups. Only the veterans, insane or truly dangerous would volunteer for this big of a job alone. Maybe that gave him pause. She'd leave it up to him to ponder which one she was. 

It certainly wasn't like riding in the Mako with her old crew. Shepard remembered a time when they'd been stuck inside a tunnel, which was pitch black and cold, and they had been left to entertain themselves while an escape plan had been formed. She really missed that damn, undrivable Mako and the people who'd been with her. 

Thinking about it made her want to fight harder. Just to have a distraction from the aching pain in her chest. Sentimental sap that she was. They’d moved on with their lives, it wasn’t the first time. She needed to do the same. 

Their journey came to an end sooner than she expected. Good. She was eager to get on the ground and figure out what was happening. 

"The bridge is up ahead," he told her, eyeing the arsenal on her back. 

"Thanks buddy," she muttered, and passed him. Giving him her back was a bad idea, no matter how co-operative he seemed, though he didn’t try anything. Her biotic barrier, along with the shield built into her armour suit came to life. It was near undetectable to the eye. Going into a gunfight without either was not a smart idea. 

The assault terrain was one of the apartment complexes she’d seen all over Omega. Inside was a stretch of doors and walkways which led to separate rooms and homes. As she neared a pair of Salarians hunkered down, the bridge finally came into view. When Shepard realised she was looking straight at the building where a Sniper was currently held up, she cursed under her breath and moved just in time for a shot to bounce off her shoulder. 

That would teach her. Gods bless her shields. It still stung like hell. A small bee sting though, compared to if he’d struck her head and her barrier hadn’t been up. 

The Salarians both turned to look at her with varied ranges of wide smiles, to which she ignored while muttering, "laugh it up," and carried on her way. She needed to get across the bridge, without a heat sink through her head. Chances were, whoever it was on the other side wouldn't know friend or foe until it was slap bang in their face.

And if need be, she'd biotic charge that close. 

Through the first door she came across, it appeared Shepard had walked in on some kind of meeting. A Salarian slammed his fist into the desk, which shook and she watched from the doorway as he spoke to the others. Ah, one of the leaders.  
He was so distracted that he didn't notice her listening in to his repeat of the battle plans. He was annoyed by the Blue Suns leader, who had been the one to orchestra most of it. They were Eclipse, she figured. 

She carried on and came across the tank of a Krogan who lead the Bloodpack, and who had a whole host of Vorcha waiting in the backlines. Those wouldn’t be pleasant to fight against, with their high regeneration rate and perchance for flamethrowers. 

From there she discovered a storeroom with a heavy mec looming at the back and decided to test her hacking skills, making sure it would not respond to anyones commands without a good amount of time to fix it. In order to hack it fully, taking some control and turning it hostile would take far more knowledge than she possessed. Tech had never been her strong suit. 

Lastly was the Blue Suns leader. A Batarian, clearly scared and making his squad pay for it, threw his hands in the air as soon as he saw her, and demanded, “Someone get this freelancer scum away from me!” 

"What crawled up your ass and died?" She quipped. Steadily loosing her patience for the Mercs. Not that she had much to begin with. 

He acted as if she’d been magically teleported away, two sets of eyes returned to his screen, and he shouted, "Get them out!" 

She shrugged her shoulders and left. There was no more information she could gain from him, but she'd made more hedge ways than she thought she would. Shepard felt slightly more confident that she'd be able to make it back over the bridge, once she'd discovered who was on the other side. The mercs were in a crumbling truce, she’d just have to add the right pressure and watch them collapse. 

As she came upon another portion where the bridge was visible, also the closest point they’d managed to push, Shepard noticed a human backed up against one of the walls. He caught her looking. "Sargent Cathka is waiting for freelancers to head over the bridge." 

"And where is this Sargent?" She tilted her head, tone bored, while knowing he was cowering beside the wall to keep from being shot. There were a lot of dead bodies scattered from past attempts of making it passed the sniper’s scope. Shepard wouldn’t shed a tear. It was an army against one man. Hardly honourable odds. 

"Over there.” He jutted his chin to the left. She left him to whatever it was he was doing, and skirted the wall to keep from being shot at again. The downside to white armour was that she was beacon in dim and dirty surroundings like Omega’s streets. 

On the other side was a larger group preparing to cross. Mostly humans. From their armour they looked like mercs from the colonies. Sargent Cathka turned out to be a mechanic for the Blue Suns. The gun ship was a glaring obstacle. She stared at it for a long minute, before stalking through the loitering mercs to speak with the Sargent. 

Time to get serious.


	2. Cracked Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-I did it... 11,000+ words! Here’s the full chapter, and I’m chuffed with the improvements. If there are any mistakes, they alluded me in the maze of words. 
> 
> NSFW next chapter *Grins*
> 
> Had to delete the first half of the chapter to update probably so I lost some comments and can’t reply D’: But I read them nonetheless!

|Part 2| 

Sargent Cathka was a hard person to like. To say they started on the wrong foot was an understatement, as he blew cigarette smoke straight into her face. Shepard, once upon a time, had smoked the odd one when she'd been able to get her sticky fingers on them, but when it was someone else? Who blatantly didn't care for unceremoniously puffing it in her face? 

Her fists tightened to the point where the plates on her knuckles made a distinct crack. He didn't react to it. Others knew it was a sign they should be more respectful. Shepard let it pass. He worked on the gun ship, and she would very much like the details of said gun ship. 

When the Sargent let on he was fixing it for the push across the bridge, Shepard got all twitchy. If it really was a familiar turian over there, shooting heat sinks in a near constant stream, could she honestly let him finish the repairs? 

No, no she couldn't. The Shepard she had been would have thought more about her actions; decided on the best and moral course. The new her simply knocked the batarian out with a well placed biotic kick in the back of the head. She caught the heavy alien before he fell, and dragged him behind the boxes below the gun ship. Praise her lucky stars, no one noticed. He would be out for awhile, and she hoped to have been across the bridge and back by that time. If he did wake, there was no way he could fix the ship fast enough. Or so she hoped. 

Rounding the boxes swiftly with one last glance at the unconscious Cathka, Shepard came up behind the group of mercs who would head out across the bridge first, as cannon fodder. She briefly contemplated trying to talk them out of it, to warm them that they would most likely end up dead. Shepard deducted it was only likely to fall on deaf ears, or alert them to her intentions prematurely. They had been paid and would laugh the scars off her arse. 

Resigned to her plan, she followed them as they vaulted over the line of defence, or more so the collection of barricades to keep the sniper from sneaking up on them, should they decide to brave an escape. The rogue turian must have pulled back to reload his heat sinks, which left them enough time to hurry along the open bridge with little cover options available. 

Shepard waited, calm in her choice, until the mercs were inside the building before she revealed her true intent. She shot the nearest one in the back of the head, a quick death. The others turned on her in quick succession, having heard the pistol pop from behind, instead of above. 

"She's with him!" They called to one another, while ducking for the closest cover. Couches and bookcases wouldn’t halt her. 

Shepard let loose. She hit hard, and hit heavy. In close range she was as deadly as a Krogan. A few bullets grazed her armour, scuffing it with dark scrapes but other than that, the mercs barely touch her. She was too high on adrenaline to feel much anyway, so she’d be sore from the stray shots later. The armour had buffed off the worse of the damage when her shields had fallen, though she would probably feel the impact in the form of bruises; a multicoloured patchwork over her pale skin. 

She took the stairs cautiously, not stupid enough to just stroll into the room the vigilante occupied. Especially if he was turian. No amount of barrier would protect her from the blast back of a sniper heatsink square in the chest. He might take one look at her, being human and shoot her outright. It wasn’t always easy to tell friend from foe in the heat of battle. 

Edging along the wall with her pistol drawn, towards the open door she called out, "I'm a friend, Commander Shepard!" 

There was a pause, with no answer. Then a distorted voice came through a helmet. One that gave her shivers. It was the voice of a ghost. 

"Shepard," it echoed, like the tormented and twisted whisper of a lost soul. Doomed never to rest in the afterlife. The memory of a white plated Turian flashed through her mind; of her time chasing the rogue spectre. She had only seen him a handful of times, even then, before he'd died. 

"Shepard is dead. Come out human. Now." 

An extremely deadly, and slightly hot barrel of a long rifle pressed against the side of her helmet. 

Shit, she hadn't paid attention to her surroundings, or his near silent footsteps! A rookie mistake. She was out of practice... Like riding a bike, they said. 

Shepard lowered her gun immediately and turned around, slowly. The barrel of the rifle followed. From there she put her pistol on the floor, one hand up in surrender. He kicked it away from her, barely giving her enough time to remove her hand. It bounced off the wall. The safety being locked kept it from going off and shooting one of them in the leg. 

"I'm not going to shoot. I'm unarmed." 

The turian snorted behind his helmet. Then sneered. "Hardly. You humans are sly creatures, and you look to be a particularly dangerous one."

He was tall. Hell, he could be almost seven foot. Black armour lined with silver covered his body. Accompanied by an assortment of weapons strapped to it. His presence alone reminded her of the disgraced Spectre; like being in the company of a volcano ready to erupt. Knowing it was unpredictable, vicious without mercy, and yet unable to move or look away. 

She recalled the one time she’d gotten close enough to Saren Arterius to actually see, to get a sense of how massive he was. It was when they'd fought on Virmire, right next to the bomb site as she rushed back to secure it and Kaidan. He'd caught her off guard, clawed talons latched around her neck and he’d lifted her, clean off the ground.

The strength it must have taken had startled her. Enough that her mind went blank for a few, cautionary seconds, even as she stared down an eery mechanical and out of place geth arm to meet a pair of piercing, glowing cybernetic blue eyes. 

He’d been indoctrinated... 

"Let me take my helmet off. I can-" 

"I knew an N7 once," the voice of Saren lamented, and Shepard’s words died on her tongue. She waited for him to continue, but he seemed to relapse into his own thoughts. 

A mistake. One she did not think the ex-elite Spectre would make. He had always been so calm, collected... one step ahead, like he could read her damned mind - until the very end, when he had been passionate in his speech for her to join him. As if he were desperate. 

He had been calm when he put the pistol to his jaw. 

Shepard took the chance to tear her helmet off, which shook him from wherever he had slipped off too. He snarled, lifting the barrel of his sniper once more, but visibly paused when he laid his gaze on her distinct blonde hair. His grip tightened on his weapon and Shepard only had a chance to blink her altered eyes once before he lowered the gun, and rounded on her. 

His talons wrapped around her throat as they had done two years prior, and just as before, her mind went blank for a moment. She found herself shoved up into the wall, his hulking frame all but trapping her where he wanted her. He snarled, distorted behind the dark tinted helmet. 

It was with a force that was almost enough to hurt, had it not been for her bulky armour. 

"Who are you? An imposter!" He demanded, tightening his hold on her throat. It was just enough to be a threat. He wouldn't crush her windpipe before he had his answers. Or so she presumed. 

"Shepard is dead!" He raised his voice, accompanied by a near constant broken rumble in his sub-harmonics that she couldn't understand. 

Shepard opened her mouth to explain - as best she could when even she did not understand it, could not comprehend it, but heard movement from the floor below. Both of them did. She felt the twitch in his stance as he fought not to turn and check over his shoulder. 

"I was dead," she gushed out the words, forcing them past her lips. "Cerberus rebuilt me. But we have more pressing matters right now." 

His talons tightened, and she felt their points on the back of her neck. A warning. "Turn on me, and I will rip your throat out, human. Make no mistake about that. Look alike to that woman or not, it will not save you." 

Shepard was taken aback by the emotions in his tone when he spoke about her, as if they had been something in the past beside enemies trying to out play one another in a race to save the Galaxy. Because despite his warped perception, he had thought he was doing just that. 

It sounded like he respected her. The old her... 

And she realised then, though he hadn't removed the helmet that it was certainly Saren. Had for a moment she thought it might be Garrus? Was she disappointed? 

He moved back from where he’d cornered her, lifting his heavy weapon with one arm. They stood for a few seconds, staring at one another. She tried hard to penetrate the darkened visor with her vision, but it was impossible. A clone he might have been, but she got the sense he was the real deal. Is that what her comrades, the ones who’d known her before, felt when they were in her presence? A sure gut feeling, that she was the real Shepard? 

She growled in her own way, though it sounded nothing like his. "I'm going down there. Just don't shoot me!" 

He snarled at being told what to do, but went to his sniper perch. "Be useful, imposter,” he called back to her as he stalked cross the hallway, “And I may not shoot you. Yet." 

She thinned her lips, but decided they had no time to argue it anymore. There came thunderous steps on the stairs to her right. Shepard grabbed for her shotgun. Usually she preferred a pistol, liked to be more precise when she wasn't biotic charging all over the place - but they were swarming, and she needed to scatter them. 

Rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, she let the shotgun rip. Anyone that had been on the steps was thrown back in an explosion of overheated shields, pieces of metal and gore. From there she launched herself over the side of the railing, landed in a roll despite her weighty armour and took to cover behind the nearest sofa. 

With Saren picking off the mercs from above, she was left to dodge his too-close-for-comfort bullets and blow her own collection of heat sinks into the mercs that got too close to the stairs, or were hell bent on ending her life. The engineers had been particularly eager to tangle with her up close. Their extra and rather bothersome shields had been eaten by her incendiary rounds. 

Eventually, after a tense quarter of an hour, all the mercs were down and the men on the other end of the bridge hesitated. Shepard stood from cover, checking over the number of bodies. It was gruesome to be sure, but she was quite sure that most of the mercs who'd been present on the other side were dead. 

"Poor buggers.” She blew out a puff of breath, and attached her shotgun onto her lower back as she took the stairs two at a time. 

She walked right into the barrel of his sniper, again. Shepard let out her own snarl. "Saren! I am Shepard. We won't make it out here alive if you keep turning on me." 

"Don't presume to know me. I am quite capable of getting out of this situation without your ‘assistance’."

Shepard let out a deep, wary sigh. "If anything, I should be the one calling you an imposer." Her voice quietened. "I watched you..." She shook her head, as if to clear the still fresh, yet old images of his body falling. To her she’d watched his lifeless corpse plummet, then be contorted and mutilated by Sovereign barely six months ago. Not two years. 

Any growling noise he had been making, very subtly, shut off. He still didn't lower his weapon however. Shepard let out a frustrated noise. 

"How can I prove to you that I am who I am?" 

Saren seemed to think on her conundrum, but didn’t appear to want to offer her a solution any time soon. Shepard would have to play his mind games, if they were going to get out of the place while it still stood, and was not a heaping pile of rubble and smoke. His inaction caused her to seriously consider her own; namely not snapping Cathka’s neck. 

"Before you... Before you shot yourself, you thanked me-" she said, her voice surprisingly thick. "No one else could know that, right? You broke through your indoctrination, in the end and you killed... yourself-" 

He brought the end of his rifle closer, a kiss to her forehead. "How do I know that it wasn't common knowledge when I died, hm? The real Shepard may have flaunted her victory. Told of how she got me to see the light." 

Shepard closed her eyes, briefly and with unexpected sadness. "I didn't do that. Saren, I-" 

Her utterance was cut short once more by a blood thirsty cry. She tensed in answer. One of the presumed dead, and highly injured mercs staggered from the stairs, intending to take her out with him. He shot at her, cracking her barrier from behind. She was snatched towards Saren. He span with her close to his chest, and proceeded to bring a clawed hand down across the humans exposed, fleshy neck. The blade like points slit the skin, and the man fell on the floor like a tonne of leaking bricks. 

Shepard breathed heavily, as the scent of death dogged them from every direction. His harsh arm remained across her back, clasping her to him. She didn't push away, despite the strangeness of being so close to him when he wasn't trying to strangle her, or throw her off something. 

He tilted his head steadily, in a measured movement. Still more than a head taller than her, she craned her neck, eyes locked on his next action. He reached with his free hand to lift his helmet. She watched, riveted as the metal casing was removed to reveal white, weathered hide. He clutched it in his hand by his side, as she was unable to do anything but take in his alien, yet familiar face. 

He had changed. There was still the oddly beautiful, yet haunting paleness of his plates and the unique curved spikes on the sides of his face that always made his profile look somewhat elegant to her - even when she hated his guts. But there was less mechanical, unnatural add ons, that she could see on the outside. He lacked the tubes in his neck, torso and leg. Some cybernetics still remained, as if to keep his face intact - though they were no more than simple metal. His teeth, and mandibles, those had been reconstructed somehow, and now appeared like any other turian males. 

His eyes; they were the biggest change. Startling in the fact that they were not enhanced. They appeared to be normal irises, except for the colour - a glacier blue. 

Not like her own, glowing like cybernetic embers, blocking out most of the once sapphire they were. 

While she stared openly at him, he had tightened his arm around her back. His talons grazed her hip. The same claws that had just cut a man open. She tried not to think about it. Knew that turians sometimes resorted to that form of violence - though it was deemed as a last resort. Uncivilised in council space, where they trimmed their claws, keeping them blunt. Saren never had. 

"He had it coming," and she found it unsettling how he echoed her thoughts. He was a mirror of sorts, displaying her cracked reflection. She fought back a shiver. His eyes hadn't left her face. "He dared to attack while your back was turned. He deserved to die like a coward." 

His words were cold, yet there was a fury beneath them. Shepard gritted her teeth. He had always been intimidating. Hell, even on the holo the first time she'd met him, he'd been something else - another level to her. The best of the best, they had said.

Saren searched her eyes, and she could not look away. His face plates shifted a little, though she could not read him well enough to place why. His mannerisms were completely different to Garrus, who being her best friend, she had learned to read quite well. 

The ache in her chest returned and resonated at the thought of him. They had been an unlikely, yet affective team; turian CSec Officer and human Spectre. She recalled his easy laugh and cheeky smile - the one where his mandible went askew and his eyes sparkled. An earthy blue, not like the pale blue of Saren's. 

Saren gnashed his teeth, and Shepard was brought spiralling back to the present. How stupid she had been, to become complacent while in his grip. Him of all people. She tensed sharply as he ducked his head, coming closer. Her biotics flared on instinct, and his rose to greet hers like a hummed challenge. 

He brought his face into the crook of her neck, drawing her body to his with the one arm still wrapped securely around her. When he breathed in, Shepard clamped down on the violent reflex of having an unknown friend or foe at a weak spot. She felt both fear at his downright unusual behaviour and a thrill that he was so close. It was a ridiculous thrill, when he had already killed a man with his bare hands. There was nothing to stop him tearing her throat out with his teeth.

But she... didn't think he would do that. Shepard couldn't be sure, but she felt as if she knew him on a level that only they could understand. Both had died, and both had returned. Not that she knew how he could actually be there. Her own situation was hard enough to grasp. 

Even when he had been threatening, nasty and violent in the past, when she had chased him down whilst biting at his heels, he had still hesitated to end her. On Virmire, when she’d hung suspended in his choke hold. She’d used his distracted state to break free. 

He'd acted as if he wanted her to come with him. 

Though, she couldn't be sure if that was simply the Reapers wish. To have another pawn. Or his own desire to have her company, or combat skills. Only the Spirits knew what his reasoning had been. 

"What are you doing?" She ground out, as his mandibles brushed her hair and jaw. Like a caress. The tantalising touch of a turian who’d been a legend before she’d even stepped foot on her first starcraft. 

"You smell like her," he breathed, and that time she couldn't stop the tremor down her spine. There was a low rumble in his tone, different from before and it was almost mournful, part reverent too. A crackle of static. 

"I am her-“ Shepard cleared her throat, and added with some difficulty, “But I am changed." 

He drew back to look at her, his eyes unreadable as they always had been. "So am I," he answered, and she frowned at his admission. 

The sealed doors on the bottom floor burst open. Her legs wobbled from the impact, and Saren squeezed her in his hold as he too, fought to stay on his feet while the supports to the second floor shook. Rubble landed, as dust floated from where cracks had formed in the shoddy workmanship. 

"They've broken through," his maw snapped out the bleak fact, while his gaze searched the perimeter. The freelancers might have been down and out, but it was still two lone souls against three well armed, and experienced merc gangs. 

"I'll hold them off," she said, before she could think better of it. His three fingered hand had loosened enough for her to pluck herself from his flytrap grasp. 

"Shepard," he barked, his now empty hand reached for her futilely. She chose not to glance at the man lying in his own blood and ran for the back bedroom, where she could lay in wait. 

It didn't take long for the action to reach her, two behemoth crimson krogan, slashed with white warpaint charged up the stairs. She held back till they were both on the same level before unleashing her shotgun on them. Their shields and armoured humps took the brunt of the damage. 

The one behind the first broke off, his slitted eye narrowed in on her. He came for Shepard as surely as the asteroid plummeted towards Terra Nova. She noted the other carry on towards Saren’s room. A shouted warning was on the tip of her tongue, but too soon she had a face full of krogan smile; a bare show of all his flat teeth in a wide mouth. 

"You'll die screaming, you human bitch.” He ran at her; as Krogan did. 

Shepard was left with only one opinion, roll away and spray till her shotgun overheated. They danced in the small space. She was doing well until she heard the battle in the other room, just as she was backed up into the farthest wall. Saren snarled, and it was as much of a cry as she’d ever heard from him. Her heart hammered, distracted for an instant and she was too slow to move as the krogan smacked the gun from her hands, near breaking her arm in the process. 

The krogan slammed her against the wall and she groaned as her armour waned. Shepard felt a few of her ribs give in. A sickening sensation which had nausea blossom in her core. The air was forced from her, and with all her sense she kept her eyes from disappearing into the back of her head along with her consciousness. 

"I'll enjoy killing you, turian whore-" Spittle coated her face as his large mouth gaped in front of her exposed face. Damn her, and damn Saren for having her take her helmet off. Shepard thrashed, earning her a few more shattered ribs. It’d be a miracle if her organs were unscathed as he ground her rib cage to dust. 

Her biotics flared, intending to knock him back but his hand snapped out to add pressure to her injured side. She screamed, her concentration forgotten as he squeezed her broken ribs. Black dots danced across her vision. Pain combined with a overused biotic amp caused a searing in her head, and blood dripped from her nose. 

Just when she thought she would pass out, her enemy was yanked from her by the sizzling pull of biotics. Not her own. She watched on, crumpled against the wall, as Saren rag dolled the krogan from one side of the room, to the other and then the floor. He put a foot on the stunned krogan’s shoulder, then followed with a point blank shot to the brain. 

The amount of power such a feat would take must have drained him, but Saren showed no signs of it aside from a foul expression. By the look of him, he hadn’t come out completely unscathed from his own battle, a stain of blue blood splattered his face and armour along his right side. Teeth gritted, she scanned all six plus feet of him with a curious, yet weary glance. 

She’d heard that the cabal - turian biotics - were a fearsome group. Trained more harshly than human biotics. Many had feared Saren because of his unique power, along with his distrustful personality and violent tendencies. Cabal were often kept in the dark, left to do black op missions. Saren himself had been part of the infamous Blackwatch squad. 

She ought to remember and heed his reputation, his long list of deeds, accomplishments and actions which were frowned upon. He was a ruthless, calculating killer. Standing on the remains of a krogan warlord, Shepard found herself conflicted. He was a man she should stay far away from, yet when he looked at her so intensely it did... strange things to her insides. 

She suddenly wheezed, and clutched at her side as if the act alone would keep her organs from falling apart. It was an effort not to be sick. Saren stormed up to her, a face like muted thunder but his hand wasn't harsh as he grasped her forearm. His strength might have been the only reason she remained standing, Shepard wasn’t quite sure. 

"Here," his voice was curt when he administered some medi-gel from his own suit to her own through his omni-tool. 

"No," she complained. "I have my own. You need yours-" 

"I wouldn't give it you if I didn't think it was necessary," he spoke too calmly, still not liking to be questioned. He was infuriating! But he had saved her life, and so Shepard closed her eyes a moment to regain her composure and let out a sigh. "How are we going to get out of here?" 

When she next opened her eyes, Saren‘s crystal blue gaze was steadfast on her paled and pinched features. It would have been disconcerting, had she had much sense beyond the searing discomfort as modern medicine glued her ribs together sufficiently enough to keep her lungs from being pierced by errant bone. She’d already suffocated once, and never wished to experience it again. 

"First things first," he told her, plated head titled downwards as he towered beside her in the process. "Don't run off like a recruit on the first day of boot camp, if you cannot handle the situation. Secondly, if you follow my orders, we should make it out alive." 

Shepard bared her teeth. "I don't want to argue. But if you give a good order, I'll follow it - if not, then I'll tell you so." 

Saren displayed his own needle teeth, releasing his hold on her like he’d been burnt. "Come," he commanded, choosing to disregard her backtalk. "We must scout out the remaining threat." 

She limped after him. Only pausing to side-step the pool of blood and gingerly bent to retrieve the shotgun from where it lay by the bed. The media-gel had taken a portion of the pain away, but it remained uncomfortable to move. She clutched at her side still, as she secured her weapon and they entered the front bedroom to take up a defensive positions by the low wall. Side by side, they looked out over the bridge to the barricades. 

"There were three merc bands. I'm pretty sure we've taken out the korgan blood pack leaders, and even the salarian - if that green blood over there is anything to go by." She gestured with her eyes to the spot she mentioned, the body must have been hidden by the mech which had gone down halfway across the bridge. 

"Yes, I killed that slimy-" Saren cursed, though she couldn't pick it out from her translator. Probably for the best. 

"That leaves the Batarian with the rat up his arse. He had a gun ship, but it was damaged and I knocked the guy out who was fixing it." 

Saren levelled her with a look. "You only knocked him out, Shepard - really? He could have already woken and fixed the gun ship." 

Shepard shot him a look of her own. Even when she’d questioned her choice earlier, it still irked her to have him do it. Like she’d disappointed him. It wasn’t as if he was her mentor for entry into the Spectres! "The biotic kick I gave him wasn't a walk in the park. He won't have had time-" 

Her words were cut short by the blaring sound of an engine. The gun ship rounded on them, and Shepard only just ducked in time before it sprayed its barrage of bullets. Chunks of the floor and wall within the room they occupied were obliterated in lines of destruction. Her eardrums rang. 

"Fuck," she shouted, followed by a sharp growl from Saren. 

They both tucked into their shared cover. The low wall wouldn’t hold forever. Then they’d be riddled with bullets unless they could take the gun ship down, or manage to out manoeuvre the pilots line of sight. Shepard regretted her decision not to make Cathka’s sleep more permanent. 

"It's only at half power," he raised his voice over the sound of the heavy weapon. "You might have at least done something, Shepard-" though he still sounded pissed off. A sizeable gun ship in your face might do that, and Saren wasn't the happiness of people to begin with.

"We'll have to whittle it down.” A gust of wind as the air ship careened to the side, attempting to get a clearer shot on them, caused her words to be almost lost. Had they had more time, she would have suggested them hooking up to a private coms. As it was, they had all their attention on not having their heads taken off. 

Saren didn't answer, but they both started taking pot shots while trying to stay in cover. It became a rhythm; she would shoot, as he reload and vice as versa. Unable to restock heatsinks from the fallen enemies around the place, they split the stores they had left in their armour pouches. 

It was rough, and just when she thought they were making a dent in the opposite forces, more mercs dropped in through the window on their flank. The kickback from her shotgun rippled along her arms, straining the tentative seal of medi-gel over her ribs. With her pistol almost empty of clips, the shotgun was her last resort. At close range, it kept them from being overwhelmed, but risked her injuries worsening. 

"More coming in," she called, breathless from the fight and her weakening state. The shoulder she propped against the square, black and white sofa kept her from drooping. 

They worked rather well together. Saren was a mix of controlled chaos. Sniper shots and well thrown grenades. Shepard changed between her remaining thermal clips and her shock waves. Her biotics often mixed with those of Saren’s to create a purely destructive force to anyone who was caught in it. Like the dust storms on Mars. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

"We can't go on like this for much longer.” They were keeping the waves of enemies back, but barely and the gun ship was a constant worry. She was almost out of heat sinks, and her biotics were draining her quickly. Once or twice she had to swipe blood from her nose, and already she felt the skin near her amp singe from overuse. 

"I know.” The look he gave her was completely unidentifiable, especially on his stoney face. Shepard would have said he looked troubled, had she not known him for managing to get out of seemingly any, and all situations. Saren Arterius always had a plan, didn’t he? 

“Do not stress your amp anymore.” He crouched lower as a stray grenade missed them. He must have caught the stain of red across her upper lip, and the dried blood as it flaked from her nostrils. A sure sign that biotics had been abused. There was only so much a body could take. 

“We don’t-“ 

“Listen to me!” He let off another few rounds, then came back into cover and met her hard gaze. “Or else I will have to pry your fried amp from your head, and I will not be gentle.” 

"Fine,” she snapped. Unpleasant as his words were, he’d essentially admitted he would save her life, before her amp could fry her brain, but he was right - his talons digging into the port to dislodge the chip wouldn’t be pretty. It never was to remove them when they’d gone haywire. 

His amp use couldn’t continue on either, and their thermal clips were shockingly low. It was do, or die. “Can we go out the way the krogans came? Downstairs?" 

"We might run straight into them," was Saren's answer. He notably didn’t look at her, busy as he was. 

"It's better than staying here," she argued. When he neglected to respond, Shepard barked, “Where is your fight?” An explosion off to the side of her caused the hearing in her right ear to vanish. “Use that confounding, intelligent head of yours Saren! We need a plan.” 

There was a district lack of acknowledgement to her cajoling aside from the stretch of mandible to reveal needle teeth, he was acting baffling enough to the point where Shepard considered rolling over to his side of cover to throttle him. 

“We won’t get a third chance, Shepard.” Even with half of her hearing missing, she had to strain to catch his quiet confession. “If we make a wrong move, you won’t return.” 

Stunned, Shepard could only stare dumbly at him. Did he mean - what? That he feared for their mortality? ... her morality? Like a constellation, she connected the dots till the expression he gave her, unreadable before, suddenly sent her stomach into a nose dive. 

Surely he didn’t... “Saren,” she choked. 

Just then, called by Sod’s law itself, the gun ship rounded on them once more. At a higher angle, it’s pilot having learnt they wouldn’t be flushed out through weapons fire alone. Distracted as she was, she’d failed to notice the mercs hadn’t sent another wave. A rocket hit the cover Saren crouched under, and it sent him skidding across the room. He landed heavily on the floor. 

"Saren!" She cried, her next breath caught in her dry throat. 

The competent marine in her was overridden, as she threw herself across the open space to him. Since he’d died, something hadn’t seemed quite right. She’d been unsettled on an unfamiliar level. It was only having him return, that she realised the galaxy was too empty without him. Shepard fundamentally didn’t want him to be gone again. 

Another rocket was aimed at them, and she had just the strength left to catch it in a biotic field. Fresh blood trickled from her nose as she flung it back. The missile erupted on impact with the gunship. Too late did she realise the spinning airship would crash into their building. The sound was deafening, as the entire structure shook and began to crumble. Part of the roof came down, almost on them, but there was sufficient leeway that they could run, find some sort of exit. 

Saren stifled what Shepard could only describe as a groan from beneath her. Without much thought, she’d covered his form with her own. His eyes pierced her, taking in the blood dripping down her chin and her protective stance; all but making herself a human body shield. 

"We need to go.” Each breath hurt to inhale. Thick plumes of dust bellowed around them. "Now!" 

Saren nodded. Hauling himself from under her, and up off the floor. He stumbled. His leg spur was damaged, the bone near hung loose. It would affect the way he walked, and his balance. 

"Here.” Again she didn't think, just reached for his arm and drew it tightly over her shoulder. Not waiting for him to react to her help, she headed for where the side of the building had caved in. His weight a heavy, but sure pressure at her side; he wasn’t dead, and she’d be damned if she’d let death have him.

They slipped on the slanted slab of flooring, though she managed to keep some grip from the soles of her combat boots. They stumbled down together. It was precarious, but the downed gun ship had opened up a path to make an escape they couldn’t pass up. The fallen debris had created a sort of bridge for them. 

“Don’t look down,” she muttered, gaze roving from the endless drop below, to the skycars overhead before settling on the secure ground two and a half metres away. He didn’t remark. 

The breeze of artifice air from being out in the open scattered the strands of hair which weren’t soaked to her skin with sweat or blood. She prayed to all the spirits that no one decided to target them while they were so venerable. Her near spent shields might be able to block the shot, but the impact could send them tumbling off the edge. 

They hurried onwards, supporting one another, both having left their guns behind in the rubble. Shepard let out a quick breath of relief when they made it to solid ground. Saren bowed his head, and she thought he might be more hurt than he let on. The fact that he actually leant into her, using her shoulder, was worrying. 

"I don't-" She started. Lost in the compacted alleyways and maze-like streets they’d stumbled upon. The cold, harsh buildings rose up around them like dark and imposing beacons. 

"Turn left," he ground out, his sub-harmonics odd. Clouded with pain. He swayed, and Shepard put more strength into the shoulder beneath him. Her body strained with the extra weight, though she would shrug it off and deal with the fall out later, when they were both in safer territory. 

She followed his curt directions till they came to the bowls of Omega. There were houses that were stacked on top of one another, like some sort of shanty town. Had Shepard not been certain they were on a floating space station, she’d have thought they were wandering parts of Earth she’d grown up in, eerily similar as they were. 

"That one.” He’d lead her to one of the structures that looked to be a story of flats. She used her free hand that wasn't locked around his side, cautiously above his hip spurs, to open the door. From there, they took a moment to catch their breath in the dim light. A single, flickering and sickly yellow bulb buzzed on the ceiling. 

Only a minute did they take, while his glazier eyes practically shone in the semi-darkness of the stair well. Shepard felt her heart skitter in her chest piece. Her glowing irises flickered away, ashamed of the cybernetics which made her feel less than human. A puppet as he had been; except Cerberus manipulated her strings and not the Reapers. Not yet, anyway. She couldn’t be sure what would happen in the end. For all she knew, she was half way to becoming a husk. 

"Keep going," he groused, and she was too high on adrenaline to fight his tone. Better they get out of the darkness, where her scars were more prominent. 

They made their way up the boxed stairs. Saren shoved partly away from her to use the banister. It was a long and arduous trip up to the sixth floor, but she was relatively positive that they wouldn't be found. Not easily. They had surely lost anyone in pursuit, and the height of the flat would give them some advantage. 

When they came to his floor, Saren lent on her again, though a hand trailed the wall as they shuffled, till he paused by one of the uniform grey doors. Graffiti and garbage were scattered throughout the hallway. 

"This one. Code 3437." 

Glancing at him to find his eyes closed, Shepard didn’t question why he couldn’t do it himself. She shifted them, to use her numbed fingers to put in the code. It clicked open to reveal a dismal apartment. Saren broke away from her, bodily supporting himself on the wall as he moved further inside. 

"Saren-" she began. He didn’t need to reject her assistance.  
She closed her mouth with a click of teeth when a hostile sound was her answer. 

With a hasty glimpse at the stairwell to check they hadn’t been followed, Shepard closed the door behind them and made sure it was locked. The flimsy chain would come loose with a single swift kick, though it still comforted her somewhat. When she swayed back around, the former Spectre had settled himself on the dirty sofa. His head back, he proceeded to let out a ladened breath. 

Shepard came over to find his eyes sealed. "Saren.” Weary as she was, her tone was cutting. “Open your eyes. You can't sleep." 

"Silence, human," he muttered, without heat. He seemed to droop in his mangy seat. Her concern grew, climbing along with her headache. 

“No," she returned, and knelt next him to bring up his suit vitals on her omni-tool. Her ribs sang in protest. There was slight internal bleeding, nothing serious and his leg spur was obviously broken. She didn’t need diagnostics to see the bone splitting through his hide. One of his face spikes seemed to be roughed up, but the most alarming problem was the concussion. 

"Saren," she tried more forcefully. "You have a concussion. Open your eyes." His crystalline blue gaze was revealed when his lids cracked open, if just a fraction. He rumbled threatening at her. 

"Growl at me all you want," she huffed, half distracted by sending medi-gel to the places it needed to be. “As long as you stay with me." 

Those chosen words hung in the air, akin to the few seconds before a grenade went off and they stared at one another for a loaded moment. No words passed between them. They couldn't find which ones to use. 

"I need to bind your leg spur, it's broken.” She got up. Needing the space. "Do you have any bandages?" 

"In the bathroom cabinet.” Glinting blue disappeared when he shut his eyes. 

"Stay awake," she asserted again, then went in search. 

Shepard found the bathroom opposite the bedroom, back in the dingy hallway. It was cramped, but sported a shower, toilet and sink. She opened the cabinet above the sink and found the first aid box. An addition Saren must have added himself. From there she collected a roll of bandage and a support rod, which she presumed was used to keep the spur in place while it healed much like any other limb. 

She came back into the main room to find he hadn't moved. Neither was he striving to stay awake. "Dammit, Arterius.” 

His jaw shifted enough to display teeth. "If you are to do this, then hurry. I can do it myself." Even battered and bruised he still intimidated. She ignored him, and crouched by his leg. Her armoured creaked, or it might have been her bones. 

"Put your foot up on the coffee table," Shepard instructed, and watched after a heartbeat as he did as he was told. It was discomfiting to lift, she could see but he didn’t utter a complaint. He would have been eerily silent had Shepard not understood the pain threshold some soldiers held. And one his age? He’d suffered worse. 

Still, Shepard set about placing the support to his spur, then mindfully wrapped the bandage around the cartilage. He didn't make a sound, though she knew each touch would be agony. She was quick, yet proficient as she tied the end. It wouldn't do any good to have the bone set incorrectly. 

When she was finished, Shepard sat back on her heels. Her breath stuttered when she felt her wrecked ribs move. "Do you have any weapons in here?" She questioned him, hiding her reaction. 

"In the kitchen draw and under the bed.” He kept his foot propped on the low, stained table. 

She went to search in the places he’d listed. The draws in the kitchen were empty aside from the bare minimal; bits and pieces from previous owners. She did find the pistol he’d mentioned, and some loose heat sinks. She brought it over to him, handing Saren the butt of the gun. He took it with a grunt and placed it at his side, talons clasped around the cold metal. 

Satisfied he had a firearm should someone kick down the brittle door, Shepard went to search the bedroom. There she found a compact sub machine gun under the bed in a nondescript box. She pulled it out and loaded it. Taking the spare heat sinks with her back into the main room. 

Her next stop was the window, to watch from behind the curtain. "Don't sleep," was her new mantra. For him, and for her. 

Her scouting perch was where she spent the Omega night cycle, half her attention on the street beyond the window, keeping watch and the other half checking him - to make sure he was still breathing. 

It was only when the artificial sun came up that Shepard found her eyes would not stay open. She'd used a boost from her suit to keep her awake but her body needed to recuperate naturally, and there wasn't much she could do about it. When her head dropped a forth time, she stood and ran a palm over her sweat streaked face. 

Returning to the living area to check Saren more closely, she found his eyes slitted open. Had he been watching her? He was an odd person, and her heart was treacherous for beating like a drum at the thought. A moth caught in a flame she was. 

"You need rest.” His voice sounded clearer at least. She relaxed knowing he was out of the early murky waters of a concussion. 

"No, I'll rest when I'm-" she ground out, but he cut her off when he reached out and latched onto her wrist. Saren tugged her down, till her head was in his lap. Shepard started, but he curled his arm over her to pin her with a hand on her shoulder. For being injured, there was still iron like strength to his lithe limbs. 

"It will do us no good to have you this way. Go to sleep. The hours have passed, and I am fine." ‘Us,’ he said, and for some bizarre reason the phrase didn’t sound strange to her ears. The fact he was reassuring her did, however. 

Despite herself and the undeniable situation that she had her head in his lap, Shepard found her eye lids grow heavy. The adrenaline had worn off, and she was on the downhill into exhaustion. Bone weary exhaustion. His thigh was thick, covered with unyielding armour, but she couldn’t move her head for the life of her. 

"I will take watch," she heard him say, a bit blurred as her scenes shut down. He didn't remove his hand, and she didn't remark on her appreciation of the weight; that she found it somewhat reassuring as she slipped off into oblivion. 

~~~ 

There was a clamour causing Shepard to jerk awake, twisting her injured ribs searingly fast as she stared at the door. Saren also watched it, tense in his frame. On alert as she was, Shepard neglected to register his talons slipping from her greasy locks. 

There was a giggle of a woman, followed by the chuckle of a man. They moved off together, down the hall. Moaning echoed back to their flat. Shepard twitched. The show could be fake, to draw them into a sense of security. 

"Do not concern yourself. They live here. Are always at it," he added, with more than a little hint of distaste coating his voice. Shepard comprehended the full extent of what he meant when she heard the continuous banging against the wall. Humans at it like rabbits? Saren must want to bleach his ear canals out. She almost wanted to, come to think of it. 

"Damn fine walls here," she muttered, and came to the realisation she was still hovered over his lap. His hand remained on her shoulder. They looked at each other then, as if coming to the same conclusion, with the sounds of those two having overemphasised sex in the room next door. 

There was new tension between them. A charge to the air. She was the first to break it as she rose from his lap, and he removed his hand. After standing, she shook out her body and proceeded to regret it instantly. She groaned at the flaring pain in her ribs. 

"You need to bind them," he told her, tone muted. Her eyes flashed at him. He already suppressed his sub-harmonics, why would he feel the need to control his forefront voice? 

"I know," she growled, blunt white teeth caught the light drifting in beams through the curtains. "I'll see to myself in the bedroom," and God’s above did she chose to ignore the double meaning to those words. 

She headed off, deciding he was well enough to look after himself. The contained violence had returned to his frame. She closed the bedroom door, and went to the dark sheet covered bed to sit. With practiced movements she removed her upper armour, placing it on the bed and then unzipped her body suit to leave it hanging around her hips. There was a tank top beneath, plain black. 

When Shepard touched the bottom of the hem, catching her enflamed skin in the process, she hissed. It wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, and she didn't really want to look at the damage. Her battle with herself over getting it done came to a skidded halt when the door swung open, hiting the wall behind it. Her hand snapped to the borrowed gun next to her, but on looking up she came to find Saren leant on the doorway. 

"Can I help you?" She barked indignantly, riled up how he didn't knock. A handful of choice remarks wanted to follow; mainly if his brain had been replaced by rocks. She could have shot him, thinking him an intruder. He crossed his arms over his chest, and took her in with those once sinister blue eyes. She suddenly felt like she couldn't escape that gaze. 

"Don’t hide from me in here," he told her, and she frowned at him. 

"Want do you want?" 

He looked pissed at her tone, and acted as if he wanted to say something more, instead he pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of her. He was even taller when she was sat down. 

"Show me," he said, as if it were simple. 

"Why?" She pushed back. "I’m human.” It was a stupid thing to say. He only looked at her strangely, and used his smarts by offering no reply. 

When Shepard didn't jump to follow his order like she was sure many of his failed prodigies, he sighed. "Stop being stubborn. Show me,” he added again, with more bite. 

"Fine," she retorted, and lifted her tank top with effort. Her teeth gritted all the while around a scream when flesh stuck to the material, from her heatsink wounds. 

Shepard’s pale skin was speckled with dark bruises; a patchwork of green, blue and yellow. The damage from where the Krogan had used his meaty hand to crush her was black, with splotches of red from where blood vessels had bloomed to the surface. 

Violence snaked in Saren’s eyes. Her instincts picked up in warning. He reached out, and she flinched. Saren simply looked at her, as if to say: I haven't killed you yet. Shepard held herself purposely still as he extended out his hand again. He swept the blunted side of a talon along her skin, and she was surprised at how cold it was on her heated flesh. It was almost pleasant, despite the danger those claws presented. 

"They will heal quicker. I'm different now.” She didn't know why she said it, but she did. 

He didn't answer. Instead he took up the bandage she'd saved for herself and swooped in closer. 

"W-what are you doing?" Her tone was clipped. She held her breath, and extended herself back from his proximity. 

He looked up at her. "Do you want to suffer doing this yourself?" There was a threat in his tone. 

"No," she thinned her lips. 

"Very good," he returned. Shepard held her arms out of the way as he used the gauze to encircle her torso. To say that his talons were razor sharp, he didn't catch her once and he seemed rather dexterous with his fingers. It was fascinating to watch. Like how Garrus was able to take his rifle completely apart, and put it back again in minutes. 

Once he was finished, and Shepard could think past how close his face was, she expected him to leap backwards or say something cutting. He didn’t do anything of the sort, no - Saren set his hand on her now bound side, at the place where the Krogan had squeezed her. 

"His death was too quick," Saren spoke under his breath, and Shepard felt a prickle in the base of her spine at his dark tone. The reasons behind Saren’s actions were too complex for Shepard to decipher, or she was too fearful to even delve into those depts. 

He rose suddenly, agile despite his splinted spur and left the bedroom. Shepard watched him from below furrowed brows. He still limped, but it wasn't as bad as the day before. Once he’d disappeared through the door, Shepard noticed her hands clenched in the sheets. 

She was unsettled by his actions, unbalanced and decided to use the bathroom to clean up while avoiding him for as long as she possibly could. Slipping on her undersuit and armour, Shepard closed the bathroom door and used the water in the sink to wash the dried blood from her face and hands. The version of her in the cabinet mirror scowled. Pushing the hair back from her forehead, she regrouped and regained some of her sense. 

When she finally returned to the front room, Shepard found him fishing around in the kitchen draws. Not wanting to ask what he was doing, she settled back on the stool she'd moved by the window and glanced outside. It the lighter, being the day cycle, but was still pretty dark compared the the Citadel. It reminded her of the run down subways on Earth where the poor lingered, and Shepard couldn't see herself ever living on Omega for long. 

That's when she remembered the Normandy and the crew waiting for her. Cerberus, but the mission was important nonetheless. 

"Saren," she started, he didn’t glance over his shoulder or acknowledge her from where he stood rummaging. When he found what he needed, he began to tinker with whatever it was on the counter block. 

Another thought came to her. More pressing that it had been when she’d learnt his identity. She swallowed dryly. "How did you come back?" 

He paused. Shepard thought he wasn't going to answer at first, she wasn’t even sure if she was ready to hear it, but she was grimly determined. "The same way you did." His voice was even, but devoid of emotion. He was hiding something. "The human organisation. Cerberus. Though I wasn't bought back to be a hero, like you. They brought me back for less savoury reasons." 

"What do you mean?" It was hard to breathe. 

Saren went quiet. The tone he used to utter the next phrase was similar to the calculating one he’d used when they’d first met. "That is none of your concern." 

Shepard bit back her volatile retort. He wouldn’t be coerced, and if she tried he might very well gut her. "I am here with Cerberus. The collectors are taking human colonies, we think they are linked to the Reapers-" 

His whole body stiffened, and Shepard trailed off. She could only assume he wasn't indoctrinated; that death had somehow broken the immoral link. "I know," he said eventually, and far too smoothly. It reeked of fake composure. 

"You know?" She frowned. Her right hand twitched with a shake she’d developed, yet hadn’t told Miranda about. Didn’t want the woman opening her back up again, to play a tune with her nerves till they were unshakable. "Then why-"

"I was testing you," he said, so simply that Shepard wanted to spin him round and have him speak to her face. "I didn't think you would come-" he continued, almost to himself. "You couldn't have know it was me. And even if you had, why would you? If not to put me down for good." 

"Saren. I don't know what happened between you and Cerberus. Hell, I don't trust them and I'm human. But you can't stay on Omega. Those gangs will find you eventually-" 

"That is not your concern.” The dismissal irked her. Had he not been the one to use the term ‘us’ as if it meant something? 

"Yes, it is!" She raised her voice, and he finally looked over his shoulder. His expression pissed her off even more. 

"Oh, and why is that?" 

He had her there. She didn't know why, but damn, she just cared! So what? They had been destined to collide, to compete against one another till the death, that didn't mean they had to in a second life. So she voiced her thoughts, and took the bait; hook, line and sinker. 

"We were enemies before. That doesn't mean we have to be this time. I could use your help against the collectors. We're going through the omega 4 relay-" 

"That's a suicidal task," he cut in. Unreadable. 

"Maybe." Perhaps not with his skills alongside Shepard’s own. 

Giving her his back for a second time, he returned too casually, "I have things to do here.” Shepard felt the urge to slug him. What things? She wanted to demand. But then, it was his own choice. The chains she wore didn’t extend to his second chance. He owed her nothing. 

"If that’s all," she gritted out. "Then I will leave. My ship is waiting for me-" 

Shepard made to go for the door, contemplating dropping her borrow SMG on the sofa but he was surprising quick on his feet. He blocked her exit. "Do you think they won't be looking for you too now?" His eyes were too bright. "You won't make it to your ship." Was that bitterness? Her hackles raised and her biotics flared. 

"Get out of my way, Arterius," she warned. 

There was a pause. Then a snarl ripped from his chest. "No, human." 

Her biotics flared, smacking him in the face, causing his head to whip back. Blood trickled from his nose. He own power swelled in full force as they crashed into one another. They fought for dominance, for the upper hold as their bodies trashed together. She thought he might kill her for the hit, but he never once used the talons latched onto her shoulders. 

Sparse decor was torn from the walls, and the table was thrown at the wall as waves of biotic power rippled and lashed from them. They wrestled until he fell, his legs weakened. He landed on the floor by the dislodged sofa, taking her with him. He held her too him even as she tried to rise, hands pressed into his chest. 

Straddling him, Shepard tensed to lift a fist. She hesitated, seeing the discomfort in his features. His broken spur was pressed to the carpet, as was the tips of his fridge. The blue light flickering over him lessened. Both breathed heavily. Her face hovered above his, her brown drawn down harshly. His scent was different to a human, yet not unpleasant. 

Saren made a sound that could have been interpreted as a tortured groan. Shepard prepared to get off him, but then his hand slid through her hair to grasp the nape of her neck. He brought her lips down upon his mouth plates, and her blood exploded in her ear. Shepard’s eyes widened, and he refused to release her as her immediate reaction was to pry away in disbelief. 

His mouth plates were coarse and inflexible but he seemed determined to get his point across. His glacier eyes flared, and his rough hand flexed at her neck. Heat shot down through her body, shocking her with the intensity. 

Too soon, her body complained, he lessened his hold on her neck. Why on God’s green earth did she feel bereft at that? She moved her face back, mouth lightly puffed from the hardness of his plate. When she licked her lips, tasting him on them, his gaze snapped to her tongue. Shepard was slightly dumbfound. Saren, he hated humans - had hated her, hadn't he? 

Hadn't she also despised him? She had, until he had taken his life to regain some semblance of control in the end. She’d respected him. He was a incredibly smart man, strong willed if cruel and viscous. Shepard had no hopes to tame him, but then; she would not be tamed either. 

They were saved for having to speak when her omni-tool started to blink. Shepard lifted herself off him. Jittery with a cocktail of emotions and stimulus, she staggered away to answer the com in her ear, forwarded through her omni-tool. 

"Where the hell are you?" Came the shrill voice of Miranda. Shepard fought a flinch. 

Her lip curled in agitation. "It's good to hear from you too, Miranda." 

"Cut the shit, Commander. Where are you?" Her second in command was not happy. When was she? Dissecting frogs, probably. Shepard realised she wasn’t being fair to the person who’d ‘saved’ her life, but god damn her if she wasn’t allowed to be ungracious. Being dragged from the pits of hell might make a soul particularly unstable. 

"I'm on Omega still," she offered, rubbing her head as she ventured over to the window to look out, while not so subtly putting her back to the Saren Arterius, who had just kissed her. The Galaxy was all twisted up. 

"Very funny," Miranda didn't sound amused at all. "Are you going to return soon? Or shall we all just wait for you to be finished with whatever you are doing? The colonies certainly have a lot of time to waste-" 

Shepard grunted. "I will be there soon, Miranda. You don't have to warn me what's a stake. Don't worry, the illusive man hasn't lost his toy yet. I'm still on his leash, for now." She cut the com and sighed, looking out onto the dark buildings of Omega. 

"I have to go," she said, not turning around. There was a faint reflection of him in the window pane. He hadn’t moved from the living area, though he had gotten to his feet. 

He didn’t miss a beat. "I could deal with the Cerberus woman, if you'd like. You need not stay with them-" 

She rounded on him. "No, you don't need to kill anyone Saren. In fact, that should be a last resort-" 

He gave her a patronising look. One which had her suck on her tongue immediately. If there was ever a useless argument, it was the grey area of morals when it came to Saren. He would go and do as he pleased. It was definitely rich coming from her mouth. 

"I am leaving-" she said again, stronger as she walked past him. It wasn’t that Shepard wanted permission, it was just that she hoped to avoid coming to blows. The room couldn’t handle another onslaught of their biotics. She was almost sure she’d heard the woman next door shriek when the table thumped against it. 

He let her pass. She held her breath. Just his nearness set her nerves alight, and her mind traveled back to that kiss. He'd kissed her! She needed to get away, clear her thoughts. Shit, he'd gotten under her skin too deep, too fast. He’d injected himself into her veins, setting them on fire. 

She glanced back at him only when she’d reached the safety of the front door, fighting to keep a straight face all the while. "My offer remains." Yanking it open, she left. Ran before she could loose her sense and remain longer in his presence. Shepard took the stairs two at a time, not caring that it jarred her ribs. 

He'd kissed her! It was almost nonsensical. And if the look in his eyes was anything to go on, he wanted more than just a kiss. She rubbed her palms down her gritty face as she exited the building, then focussed on the map on her omni-tool to find the quickest route to the docking bay.

She made it to the docks sooner than expected. The SMG still hung at her waist. Saren hasn’t asked her to return it before she’d left, and her mind had been occupied on other matters. Her fingers touched the weapon lightly, while her thoughts were in turmoil. All centred around the pale turian. 

Miranda was waiting for her when she got aboard. Shepard easily and distractedly brushed passed the operative and her words, heading straight for the elevator to her cabin. 

"We will speak of this Commander!" Miranda called after her. Shepard knew her faults, she didn’t need a lecture. 

Entering the confined space, Shepard pushed the button to close the elevator doors and allow it to ascend. Miranda didn’t attempt to follow her in. A wise move from a fellow biotic. Shepard was dangerous, and in the enclosed metal box? The operative certainly didn’t trust her enough to risk a cosy ride to her cabin. 

So the door sealed, and she was alone. Shepard sagged against the wall. Exerting only enough strength to make it to her room, and rid herself of her armour, Shepard fell onto the bed while images of a white plated turian teased at her thoughts. 

The glass panel above her bed was a torture method from the Illusive Man; a reminder of what he’d brought her back from. Oddly, Shepard would have preferred the dank ceiling of Saren’s apartment. Frustrated at herself, Shepard snagged a pillow to throw over her head and forced all thoughts from her mind. 

No more collectors. No more Cerberus. No more ghost of a lost Spectre. Whose eyes grazed her skin as surely as a blade of ice, and yet heated her blood. Made a body she thought dead come alive once more.


End file.
